Le Fantôme et L'ange
by phantom's angel52
Summary: A Fairytale. Christine arrives in a new kingdom and she realizes how little she fits in. As she tries to adapt to the cultural differences of Perros, she finds that the only thing that calls to her most are the mysteries of the forests, plagued by fantômes. Leroux based. Inspired by Christine's childhood in Perros-Guirec.
1. Introduction

_**Disclaimer:** This story is written for the purpose of being much like a fairy tale. The idea is original, but there are aspects of this story which are not, which I first must disclaim as being my own: 1. The idea of this story is based off of Gaston Leroux's Phantom of the Opera. All proper claim is put under his name. 2. Names of kingdoms, towns, and cities in this story are named for actual places. All implications of climate, weather, terrain, regions, topography, etc. are made only for the sake of the story and I will proceed to use the names only to imply their place and unique purposes for this story. 3. Perros is shortened for Perros-Guirec, which is also a real place that I do not intend to make implications for. It has been shortened for a few different reasons (one just being for my sanity, because I have a ridiculously hard time writing it out repeatedly). 4. The ceremonies and rituals which take place are a mixture of many traditions of various cultures. These alterations and combinations were made also for the sake of the story and will continue to be used for the unique nature of this tale._

_Now that all of that is out of the way…_

_Thank you all for stopping by to read. More notes about the story will be posted in the next chapter. First, an introduction to Le Fantôme et L'ange…_

_- Phantom's angel_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

_Introduction_

On the north-western corner of the kingdom called Trégor, in the small village of Perros, families within every home were preparing a feast which they would not consume. Their platters would be left out at sunset, waiting for the unseen forces of the night to devour the meal with their hungry souls. For within the forests and woods of the great land, the mystic creatures and souls of the dead wandered ramped, seeking the living as their hosts. Those who lived within Trégor's borders took heed to remain out from the woods entirely, but for Perros, which was settled far from the interior – surrounded by the forests and the sea – they lived within the trees, shoveling out just enough land for themselves to steal back from the haunters of the night. While towns such as Lannion, Morlaix and Gruingamp kept far from the trouble of interaction with such fears, those who lived in Perros were trapped within it, daring not to leave because of the journey through the woods which would last for four day's time.

Villagers of Perros had grown to thrive despite the known presence of such ill spirits. One sign of their triumph over the specters surrounding them was the creation of la Toussaint: the cause for the preparation of such meals this eve. La Toussaint was an evening unique to Perros when villagers appeased the spirits which they feared, yet respected. It was the night when they left a feast out for the spirits to consume as a peace offering and shared stories of their land to the young, for it was through stories that the spirits of the land were first born. La Toussaint was the one night of the year which the spirits were most active throughout the year's calendar. In response, villagers of Perros averted these mysterious beings by warding them off successfully for centuries through their ceremony.

The festival started with the feasts which were left on tables outside of the villagers' homes. Three courses were served for the korrigans, ghouls and fantômes to pass over and gain their fill, pleasing themselves enough to pass their houses during the night when they were out to play. After the sun set, the people feasted in the center of the village square, celebrating in song and dance, then sending their children off to parade from house to house, begging for stories to be told to them until midnight arrived and the night was done. The elders of the town had the most stories to tell, but as generations changed, stories grew with legends which happened amongst their people over the course of time. All of these tales surrounded around the three active spirits in their part of the kingdom.

Korrigans were siren-like creatures who used their enchanting songs to draw victims in and switch them with changelings. They lived anywhere where water was present and radiated with a slight glow of red in the night air. Perros' borders were surrounded by water, with the sea at its north, and two rivers gliding through the east and the west, meeting not more than ten miles to the village's south. While korrigans were scarce, children often would run up to the hills during the rainy seasons, gathering in the clearings and blowing out their candles to wait and see the flames floating against the ocean's far-off currents. In the days leading up to la Toussaint, water would be concealed in any way possible and hauled to the trees at the back of their homes at the edge of the forest's reach. Every child was warned that if they were unfortunate enough to catch a korrigan in the water's draw to ask the lutin for the list of days of the week, for it was known that a korrigan cannot enumerate the full list of the days for the sacredness of the week to the maker.

The same could be said for the ghouls, who were the most feared of the spirits. Forbidden access into the heavens, ghouls were truly demons who preyed on innocent souls to persuade them into mischief and vice. Children were the most susceptible to their trickery, yet as they prepared for la Toussaint, they took great joy in creating their own images of what they thought the creatures to look like. To ward them off, children carved faces into squashes, stumps and bed sheets, leaving their masterpieces accompanied by a candle out for the night to frighten the ghouls before they could steal inside to their bedsides.

The most active spirits during la Toussaint were the fantômes, who were the lost souls of the dead dismissed from access into the afterlife. Whether they were left to wander the earth because of unfinished deeds or for unholy acts committed during their lives, the fantômes were faceless creatures; merely a shade of silk which floated through the woods, cloaked in decaying cloths and shackles. They were the easiest to gain human interaction, yet they feared any form of light.

This was why not only la Toussaint, but all days in the year were filled with the constant use of light. None of the spirits of the woods could materialize within the light and this was the villager's main shield against them all.

As sunset approached, the village began to bustle. Families began lighting the candles within the bellies of the miniature ghouls at their doorsteps and bringing the food they had spent all day preparing to the tables outside of their homes. Widowers sorted through memories of their deceased loved ones, silently praying to the maker that their souls had been spared to the after-life. While each home was high with life, the square remained vacant, waiting for the villagers to complete their preparations and join in the center of it all at sundown, partaking in their own feast for the night.

Meanwhile, just outside of the village of Perros, two travelers were pushing their way through the woods, pressing onward toward the ceremonies, unaware of the spirits which followed behind them.

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_Please leave a review on your thoughts..._


	2. Ch 1 Arrival

_**Author's Note:** Our first look at Christine and her father as they enter the village of Perros. I made the decision not to change any of the character's names, as I was originally thinking of changing the surname Chagny ect. to one which sounds more Swedish, since I did not want to change Daae. Though this may put a slight inaccuracy as far as place goes for the story, I wanted to avoid confusion considering there is already so many changes in place, time, and terminology. Thanks to those who have already reviewed! I'm very excited to present this idea I've had for some time now. Please bare with me on the potential longer updates. Though I just finished my finals, I will still be quite busy during my winter break. I'll be going to Paris for about a month! Hopefully I'll get the time to write a bit while there, because I think it will be super inspiring! I'll also be doing a lot of my own touring, especially themed around Phantom. I plan to blog about it, if you are interested in following along! _

_Thanks for stopping by to read and I hope to get the ball rolling so that we can really get to the fun stuff of this story._

_- Phantom's angel_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Chapter One

_Arrival_

As the village of Perros prepared for the upcoming la Toussaint, a man and his daughter were traveling toward the town. The gentleman guided a small dapple-grey horse by the lead rope through the brush and branches, finding that the path seemed hardly beaten for their arrival. They maneuvered their way between trees and stumps, spending valuable time weaving their way along. The wagon was sparsely packed with just enough clothing and goods to get them through their journey, but their amounts of food were plenty. Their stop in the kingdom of Sant-Brieg and again in Trégor's capital city Tréguier had provided them with substantially more food than they required, yet they considered it a blessing for their crops would not be planted until the spring after they arrived to their piece of property.

Behind the wagon walked a young girl of sixteen years. Her hair was golden-yellow, curling tightly down her back and her eyes were a clear crystalline blue. She strolled casually behind the wagon, holding her scarf tightly in her hands as she hummed her own tune into the trees. The crows and gulls were the only to reply, circling and flocking far in the sky above them, which was beginning to turn orange from the sun departing in the west. She smiled, looking off into the trees, feeling a satisfaction as if she were to have a live audience present, adoring to her song. She followed the wheels' tracks in the mud, stopping just before running into the back of the wagon, then she'd continue floating forward again as her papa cleared the way.

Papa stopped and began to cough, beating his hand against his chest and hunching over his wobbly knees. Placing her scarf in the wagon, she walked around to the front and grabbed a hold of the gelding's halter. The young girl reached out and held her father's arm. He looked over, dropping his clutching fist from his lips and stared at his daughter sadly.

"Sit in the wagon, Papa," Christine urged. "Please."

The man indignantly looked to her, but then fell back on his persistence.

He nodded sadly and passed the reigns to his daughter.

Christine patted her father's back as he passed her and squeezed his arm tightly with affection.

Christine's mother died when she was very young. Charles Daaé kept his daughter close, priding himself in teaching her the reading and writing of music. The rest of her comprehension skills came from her love of books and knowledge. She was a devote student and was fluent at reading musical sheets and could play the violin quite well. They attended faires and festivals together in their home kingdom of Knivsta, where the land sprawled with green hills in summer and snow fields for the rest of the year. The buildings of Knivsta were known to be quite linear, pointing upward toward the maker, for everything connected back to his creation of the earth.

Charles Daaé's grandparents had moved his father from their home in the kingdom of Trégor to that of Knivsta when he was young, and ever since, their family had made feeble attempts to reroot. His father had grown up through his valuable childhood years in Knivsta, gaining friends along the way and eventually, falling in love with what he felt was the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Their child together was the spitting image of her mother, and Christine was raised off of the land they shared, planting crops and selling at the faires alongside her family. After her mother's death, Charles had focused all of his attention on his daughter.

There was never thought of leaving their land until Charles had received a letter one day last spring. It had traveled from the kingdom of Trégor and informed him that the last of his lineage living in Perros had died. With the death of Christine's mother and the misfortune of the rest of the Daaé name, there were no members left of the Daaé name alive or interested in the property. Charles, however, saw it as opportunity.

Knivsta was growing in population, which cut their property allowed for growing crops down considerably. Charles found it difficult to keep up and to sell his product in the now bustling town. The proposition of living in simplicity again appealed to he and his daughter both. The letter offered his family the home with the attached property for farming, along with any possessions left to the home. Charles sent back within a fortnight and before summer, they were wheeling their wagon south toward the sea.

The journey was proving especially difficult for Christine's papa, as his cough started while they were on a ship crossing the great sea. He spent most of his time below the decks, trying to keep himself from turning green from the water's churning. Christine tended to him diligently, knowing that there was no turning back now. She had an appetite for the adventure ahead, but as her father began to cough more and more, she feared what may happen. Their stop for rest in Sant-Brieg had been quite beneficial in his recuperation, so off they set again toward Perros before the winter settled in.

As the wagon began to find a dried dirt path and a clearing from the brush, Daaé emerged from the wagon and nodded to his daughter's kindness. She dropped the reigns back into his hand and smiled. She knew she couldn't let him loose his pride by riding into their new home in the back of a wagon. Christine took back up her gentle tune and they continued together – side by side – as the smoke from the chimneys of the town beyond began to come into view.

They continued down the path, watching the trees disappear from their route, as if they were pruned away from the village. Their first sighting of a small home was to their right. A mother holding an infant wrapped in blankets stood on her back porch. She watched vigilantly as the travelers guided their horse toward the village, holding her child close and calling to her older son, who ran and wrapped his arms around her leg. Together, they watched the wagon pass, while Christine noticed the unease in their eyes.

Christine ceased her singing, seeming to console the woman's apprehension.

They continued past, finding another cottage coming to view to their left. Lined along the path and around the property were buckets full of water, stagnantly sitting and collecting the last of the leaves to fall from their trees. The next cottage had a fountain in back and small demon-like creatures with fire burning in their eyes and mouths placed on their porch. Upon further examination, Christine realized they were pumpkins illuminated by candlelight.

Each cottage they passed grew more decorated with knick-knacks and goodies outside of their steps, from water vases to hollowed squashes, and even coats designed in the form of soulless figures. The few people they saw seemed furtive to their presence, shying away or simply stopping to stare. All of them had thick, dark brown hair and eyes which were just as brown. They appeared plain and simple, yet seemed dignified enough in their ways to let a traveler and his daughter pass by without discussion. By the time they found the centre of the town, it seemed more abandoned than the homes surrounding it.

Charles turned to his daughter and asked her to stay with their belongings. He would ask somebody in a shoppe for direction. Christine turned about herself, admiring the quaint nature which this small village offered. She had never heard of the village named Perros until her papa began to mention it through the correspondence of his letters. Then it suddenly became their life as they planned their trip. There was hardly anything to learn about the town, which made Christine's imagination grow wild with intrigue. Now that she was standing in the centre of it, she felt alone. Not a soul was in sight and those they had seen were more like ghosts than neighbors.

Large tables were lined against the shoppes' faces, linked together and forming a circle against a ribbon shoppe and a tailor. The doors and windows behind were shut and vacant of light, with only the baker's across the street offering a soul to speak with. Christine could see the man inside which her papa spoke to, holding onto his wife and nodding his head as her father detailed their adventure. They too had dark colored hair and those vacant eyes which were round and thick with distress despite their pleasant smiles. As Charles walked back out of the shoppe toward his daughter, they peaked out and waved casually to her. Christine eagerly replied to their salutation and curtsied to them.

"They said they knew my great uncle," Daaé said as he approached his daughter. "They were pleased to hear the family name would continue here in Perros."

"Then they knew the direction toward our home?" Christine asked.

"Yes, my child," papa Daaé said. "Down the western path."

"Did they know your father also?" Christine asked.

"They did," he replied. "He was very young when my grandparents left this place, but they knew him nonetheless."

"Then perhaps we can be welcomed," Christine said, clapping her hands together in relief.

"I have no doubt of it," Daaé said, patting his daughter on the head. "Take the lead rope and let us move onward."

The western edge of the village was no different than the east from which they arrived. The small cottages and homes were situated entirely the same, even offering the same sense of décor. The small demons made of pumpkin stared right at Christine, testing her bravery and grinning at her wildly. She looked toward her father, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, showing his equaling mystification of the ritual.

As they arrived at the cottage which was described by the baker and his wife, Charles pulled his daughter into his side and stood with her on the outside. It was exactly as they had done before they left their home in Knivsta, taking in the moment to store within their memories.

"I hope my father would be proud," Charles said under his breath.

Christine looked up to her papa and smiled.

The home was very small, offering a simple seating area raised off of the ground with a single chair on the porch. The windows were covered with dust and cobwebs, letting no light to escape inside, but as they pushed through the front door, they revealed a charming space with a food pantry, wash tub, sturdy table and a closet. Candles were set on the table, as if left as a welcoming for Charles' inheritance. Christine struck a match to light the small tokens, revealing to them the work which would be ahead of them.

Charles walked into the center of the room, holding one of the candles out in front of him to inspect the table left for them. It revealed scruff marks and rough edges, begging for maintenance while the closet only offered a single broom to restore the house with. Christine took the other candle and journeyed up the stairs, drawing back each time they strained from the unwelcome weight of a new owner. There was a loft which led to two small rooms before Christine. Inside of the first room were three small beds and an old toy chest. No gifts were left inside of it, but a window on the far corner of the room offered another set of candles to use. The second room offered one large bed and a rocking chair with one old pair of shoes left at the end of the bed. Christine picked them up and inspected them, determining them to be left behind by a man.

Christine took her find and ran down stairs, informing her father of her discoveries.

"The three beds must have been for my father and uncles," Papa said. "It was the eldest, Edmund, who inherited the property. The shoes must have belonged to him."

"Then it is all we have left of him," Christine said sadly.

"No," Papa said. "We have this wonderful home he's left for us."

Charles seemed to beam as he spoke, proudly claiming it as a responsibility to his family.

"Christine, we must unload the wagon before dark. I will take the horse out back and find the stable. You begin removing the blankets and food for tonight."

Christine nodded, turning quickly and running outside. She jumped off of the porch, avoiding the steps, and went straight to the wagon, running her fingers along the horse's side as she went around back. She piled as many items as she could into her arms, piling blankets and rugs high over her head, then carried them into the house, letting them drop onto the top of the table. She took two of the largest quilts and ran them upstairs, placing one in the child's room for herself that night and one on the large bed for her father.

She ran back downstairs and straight outside, finding the horse gone with her father and went for another load, taking a few canisters full of salts and a basket of bread inside. She was impressed with her pace, hoping they could truly beat the sun before it went into hiding, when she heard a scuff come from behind her. Christine turned from the back of the wagon and saw a tall man approaching her.

His hair was maintained better than those villagers she had encountered earlier, yet his eyes were much more cold. His brow set heavily over them and his smile was plastered into an unpleasant smirk. Christine frowned as he stepped forward, looking down toward her with suspicion in his eyes.

"Bonsoir, Mademoiselle," the man said.

"Good evening," Christine said evenly.

"You must be of the family Daaé, from Knivsta."

"Yes, sir," Christine said, still trying to determine the man's reason.

"Where are your brothers and sisters?" he asked.

"I am the only child," Christine said.

"You traveled without them?" the man asked.

"No, sir. I am the only child of the family," Christine confirmed.

The man seemed appalled at the thought, but removed the distain from his glance and nodded his head as a form of apology.

"Then where is your mother?" he reprised.

"She is dead."

"Oh," the man said with little sympathy. "Forgive me for reviving past grievances."

Christine shook her head, gesturing her acceptance of his indifferent apology.

"Who then, may I ask, will be inheriting this property?" the man asked.

"My father and I," Christine said, becoming rather annoyed with the man.

"Goodness, quite a piece of land for such small living arrangements," the man suggested. "The clearing in back will make for quite agreeable landscaping for you, I'm sure."

"We intend to plant the land, sir," Christine said.

"To farm?" he asked. "Your father?"

"And myself."

The man looked to Christine as if she were insane suggesting such a thing. He stared at her for a moment, as if expecting her to reveal a joke, and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well then, _mademoiselle_, I suppose I shall wish the two of you luck for the next season."

They both stared hard at each other. Christine figured the man was well into his thirtieth year, yet he still carried a handsome face, despite his harsh appearance. He was far too young to be old-fashioned, yet his attitude toward Christine suggested quite the opposite. Regardless of his age, Christine felt her anger flair with his implication of her place within her own home.

"Forgive me, sir, but who are you?" she asked.

Just as the man's shoulders rolled back with distinction, Charles walked around the corner holding onto a basket full of twigs and branches for a fire. Christine and the man both turned to look as Charles gestured toward the man, acknowledging him immediately.

"Ah, sir," Charles said. "Are you Philippe de Chagny?"

"Oui, Monsieur," the man said. "I am the appointed overseer of Perros. And I presume you are Charles Daaé."

"Yes, sir; I am," Charles said. "It is a pleasure to have a face to go with the name behind our correspondence."

"Yes," Philippe said, seeming less amused. "Your daughter was entertaining me enough to say that both of you intend to farm the land you inherit."

"That is true, sir," Charles said. "My daughter speaks the truth."

The man fell silent for a moment, then nodded his head and tried to smile.

"Well then. I spread my previous wish of luck to you as well."

Charles looked toward Christine and they both made eye contact. Christine made it be known to her father that she was not amused with the man, but even Charles was unimpressed by his manners.

"I brought for you some of our extra portions of food for tonight, monsieur," Philippe said gesturing to a basket full of goods set behind him. "As I am sure you won't have the time to make something before sundown."

"We thank you kindly, but we do have plenty of food to feed us left from our journey," Daaé said. "We were well stocked in Sant-Brieg before arriving."

"This food will not be to feed yourselves," Philippe said. "It shall be left in front of the home after sundown tonight for la Toussaint."

"Forgive me, sir, but we are unaware of this custom," Charles said.

Philippe de Chagny seemed surprised that we were unaware of the term and thought a moment, seeming to find a way to describe the event.

"The people of Perros leave an offering to the spirits which haunt this land on the most active night of the year," Philippe said. "It is the least one can do to keep them away on such an evening as this. I also extend this invitation to allow you to join us in the town square after sundown to accompany us all in a feast already prepared for all of our villagers."

"We thank you for bestowing such kindness onto us, but we'd hate to intrude having just arrived," Charles said. "We know nothing of this practice and don't feel we've been received long enough to adopt such innate ways—"

"As this may be true," Philippe cut in, "the feast of la Toussaint has been a communal event for centuries, and all those who reside in Perros are to attend."

Charles looked to his daughter and then nodded to the man who claimed to oversee the town's business. Christine refused to acknowledge him as such.

"Then we shall be there after sundown," Daaé said. "We are gracious to your… welcoming words."

Philippe smirked again and then nodded to Charles. He returned the gesture before turning to see his daughter give an exaggerated bow in the man's direction. With haste, the man was mounting his horse and pulling him toward the centre of the town, making his way back before the impending sunset.

Christine turned immediately to her papa.

"Let's not go," she said.

"Come now, child," Charles said. "You heard him. Besides, it will be a good chance to meet our new neighbors and to make new acquaintances."

"It all sounds to me like a waste of perfectly good food," Christine muttered.

"Perhaps," Charles said, picking up the basket of food, trying not to coax her daughter further. "I will put this food on the ledge of the porch."

"Are we really, Papa?" Christine sighed.

"Yes, my child. We must keep good company here," Charles said kindly. "Come, let us finish unpacking the wagon. Once we've finished, we can go ahead and join in their…productive feast."

Christine laughed knowing that her father shared her opinions on the matter. They each grabbed an arm load of supplies and goods, carrying them together inside of their new home to place onto the table. Each of them knew the challenge ahead of them would be reviving the cottage from its current state, but for now, they would unpack their belongings and keep them safe from the supposed spirits which lurked outside of their windows. They joked and laughed with each other, playing games as they went, but as the light was now quickly disappearing, their amusement grew more serious, knowing that they would be attending the most important sort of faire they'd ever been to; earning the chance to fit into a new village and earning their spot in the town.


	3. Ch 2 Lantern

**_Author's Note:_** _Sorry for the delay! I wish I could be honest and say it wont happen again, but this story is still in the works; I was just so excited to get it started! But after a large delay while I was away, I am back home in the States and getting through the semester in college. For those wondering, Paris was amazing. I actually finished this chapter as well as started the next and had many notes on what to do next... then I lost my notebook. So somewhere, wandering around Paris is a notebook full of my writing which I will never get back and which I am very sad about. Not to mention, all that I had planned is gone and I can't remember it all for the life of me! Regardless, I'll get it back to memory... Anyway! This is an in-between chapter of sorts. The next chapter should be more colorful and exciting, but for now, this gives a first look at Raoul and Christine. Hope you enjoy and thank you all for your patience! _

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After sorting and refolding the sheets, Christine turned her attention toward beating the collected dust off of the rug. She draped it over the front ledge of the porch, using the bristles of the broom left to their inheritance by her great uncle to send the particles flying up into the air. She pretended that it would not affect the food which was set just on the other side of the stair's banister. It mattered not to her, for she knew the food was left to waste anyway. At times, she'd pretend she was being allowed to swat the "appointed town overseer" from behind, letting it be known how she felt about him and his manners. Christine felt greatly respected back in her home of Knivsta despite her young age, being part of the community and valued by her peers and her elders. Now, whether it was because of her age or her femininity, she was pushed aside as a mere source of amusement to the pompous man.

The relief of using the rug as her source of release had taken her mind off of everything within time. The rug was clear of dust and even then Christine continued to beat at it, looking off into the distant and remembering the airs of her old life. This new life looked so inviting, but now it was beginning to appear to be bleak. Though the fresh sea air was refreshing to her northern senses, the unenthusiastic response to their arriving seemed unnatural and painful to breathe in.

With her distracted mind, Christine didn't realize her papa had joined her on the porch until his hand fell gently on her shoulder. She spun around quickly, holding the broom behind her back and looking up to her father with a blush of embarrassment across her checks.

"Quit your work, Christine," he said softly.

"But Papa, I still must scrub the floors," Christine said.

"There will be time for that," Daaé said.

"But what of the folding? And rinsing the spare foods?" Christine asked.

"It will all be taken care of," he said. "For now, we must attend the festival in the town's square."

"But Papa—"

"Not another word, Christine," her father said. "I would like you to go ahead and take your leave for the feast. I will be there before long to join you."

Christine turned her head to the side, trying to hide her apprehension. Though old enough now to begin a life of her own, Christine was still rather much like a child. Her father's coddling spirit kept her in a constant state of adolescence, yet somewhere deep within her heart, she knew she too could ascend to be more independent from her papa. In the mean time, it was difficult in the given circumstances.

Charles smiled and pulled his daughter toward him, resting a hand on each shoulder and looking her square in the eyes.

"Do not fret, my daughter. You will be in good company. I have no doubt that you will be well received here in Perros."

"It is quite different here," Christine said.

"Yes, but I you are a charming young lady who has always had a way with crowds," Daaé said. "Be yourself and you will find a home within this new kingdom."

Christine forced a smile and nodded her head.

"Yes, Papa," she said submissively.

She went inside and retrieved her cloak and scarf from inside on the table, wrapping them carefully around her shoulders. Christine took her time as she prepared to leave, hoping it would allow her the chance to walk with her papa to the feast. As he continued shuffling between the upstairs and down, Christine asked once more if he would like any more, then bid him farewell.

Red was still painted in the evening sky as Christine walked down the western path. There was hardly enough light left, but the path was so open and clear that she knew it wouldn't bother to go back for a lantern, despite the lack of a moon in the sky that night. She looked off toward the west, out into the woods which happened to be untouched by those who lived in this strange place. Treguier seemed much more similar to her home, yet why was Perros so different in their ways?

With a great swoop of dusty wings, a creature flew over Christine's head, lofting downward before stretching out its talons and perching itself on the only tree left on the trail within the vicinity. Christine looked and saw she was a small Tawny owl, ruffling her feathers and looking out toward the forests beyond. She gave an exaggerated hoot into the distance and then waited for a reply from beyond.

Christine also waited for a response with anticipation, wondering if she were far enough into the forest to be heard. The owl tried her luck again, but this time, was greeted by Christine's own call as she cupped her hands around her mouth and mimicked her call. The owl turned her head and looked out toward the land she just flew from, cocking her head to the side and waddling in a semi-circle to face forward again. Christine returned the call to her new companion.

_Hoot-hoot, hoot_, Christine called.

The owl replied.

A smile pressed over Christine's lips as she called out to her new companion again, this time venturing outside of the regular three-hoot pattern. The she-owl leaned forward, intrigued by the stranger's call with her eyes wide with intrigue, and she waited before offering the same reply as before.

_Hoot-hoot, hoot._

Christine giggled, trying to remain quiet so as not to frighten her friend. She snuck forward, standing beside the stump of a tree which surely once stood tall and proud, and prepared herself to send out another call when she jumped at the sound of a voice behind her.

"Owls are only enjoyable when they are pinned to the walls of the barn," the voice said.

Christine turned around quickly, gasping for breath as she noticed a boy standing behind her.

He was young, though appeared close to Christine's age. Even with his mahogany brown hair, his features were light and inviting, for his eyes were nearly hazel in color. They were different from the dreary eyes which she had seen throughout the town of Perros so far. She guessed him to be near eighteen years of age, for his face seemed to be mature yet still had a cunning youthfulness to it. His jaw was weak while his shoulders were strong, lifting the head of a young man of importance, for his dress and style suggested he was of great report. Even with his nice dress, he stood with his arms stretched out to his sides, balancing on top of an unstable log.

"I beg your pardon?" Christine asked, still trying to pass for being unaffected by his sudden appearance.

The boy laughed, jumping off of the log, letting it roll behind him.

"You will find no use in talking to owls," he said. "They are more fun to hunt."

"Hunt?" Christine asked, appalled.

She looked behind to see that her friend the Tawny owl had flown away.

_Probably better off,_ Christine thought. _With a hunter in her presence. _

"Of course," the boy said. "It's great sport out here."

"Is that what everybody does for fun here?" Christine asked.

"We have plenty else to do," the boy said.

"Like la Toussaint?"

The young man eyed her for a moment, seeming to try and understand the intent behind her comment. He smirked and shook his head, turning back to the log and rolling it over with his foot. It tumbled a few rolls down the path then stopped against the surface of a stone.

"Traveling without a light?" he asked without turning back.

"Yes," Christine said, watching him now squat down to grab a handful of dirt from the ground.

"That is quite foolish of you," he said casually.

"I am not afraid of the dark," Christine said boldly.

"It's not the dark you should be afraid of," the boy said rather coolly.

"Oh?" Christine asked, also bending down toward the ground to better see what it was he was doing. "Then what is it I should fear so?" She crouched beside him and looked into his face, cocking her head to the side.

The boy looked to her eyes, staring in intrigue at the crystal blue color a moment before leaning in a bit closer.

"A demon stealing your heart," he said.

Christine nearly laughed. She smiled a foxy grin to the boy before reaching out to him for the soil which he was so intent on collecting. He examined her hand before running the soil from his hand to hers.

"I thought those were only stories," Christine said as the dirt piled into her fingers.

The soil in her hands was rich and moist, perfectly lush for ideal growing. Why was nature discouraged from producing in this place? Were these stories they concocted truly the reason for such insanity?

"These stories are told from truth," the boy said too casually.

"Then does the entire village live their lives based off of fables?" Christine demanded.

The boy seemed strangely calm despite the questioning he received. He merely reached out and turned Christine's hand over, dumping the dirt back onto the ground and out of her hands.

"They are not fables," the boy said. "They are tales passed down from experience."

"Then new tales must be told everyday," Christine said.

"What do you mean?" the boy asked.

"If this village is truly plagued by the spirits you all speak of, then new tales must be told with each encounter anybody has," Christine said. "That is, of course, if they are even true."

The boy's amused smile turned downward, casting a shadow of ire upon his face. He clutched his fist into a ball and held it close to his crouched knee, tightening his jaw as a reminder to keep his composure.

"The stories are rooted in the past," he said. "We have learned since how to handle our circumstances. There have been villagers here for thousands of years who have learned ways to appease the demons we share our homes with, and thus, through their spoken word, we have averted such conception of tales."

Christine hoped to have a witty comeback but she was at a loss for words. His speech was given with such dignity that she hated to try and pull him down further, yet she could not understand how a village could be so blinded by stories.

"Do you truly think so poorly of the lore?" the boy asked sadly.

"I believe stories are mere fairytales," Christine confirmed.

"With absolutely no truth?" the boy pressed.

"No more than a lesson to teach to children."

"Then what do you believe?" the boy demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"What directs you in this life?" he asked. "What controls your fears and beckons your desires? What did you bring with you from your homeland of Knivsta which drives you everyday?"

Christine thought for a moment – not of what it was she believed in – but what she should tell the boy before her. His passion had truly turned the conversation, yet maybe he could make her understand what it was she was now living amongst.

"We have stories of many different beings," Christine started slowly. "Of the Fossegrimen, Nøkken, the draug, of dragons… but the legends of our land revolve around Odin, who leads the wild hunts through the great forests. He cloaks himself in the prizes of his hunts, letting not a scrap of his game go to waste and he protects the forests from Fanden and the underjordiske."

"Who are they?" the boy asks.

"Why, Fanden is the devil, of course. And the underjordiske are the spirits whose souls lay improperly to rest. They wander the land as slaves, doing Fanden's biding until they are per-chance saved by the spirits who serve the Maker."

"Angels," the boy said.

"They have no real name," Christine corrected.

"But here," the boy said, trying to get her to understand. "We refer to them as angels. They have a power humans do not understand, for they lack scrutiny toward others. They are accepting of anybody with a true heart."

"Yes," Christine nearly whispered. "That is much like our heavenly beings."

"Then they must be the same."

The boy smiled to Christine and she offered hers in return. It was relieving to have at least something in common with the kingdom of Trégor, for it was the beings from heaven Christine most admired. Their spirits most inspired her. Yet now, she was acting nothing like the friendly figures who were accepting to all beings. Instead, she was condemning any ideas presented to her as false, which like the wicked Fanden was known to do. Christine closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid the demon from her mind – be it underjordiske or ghoul – so that she could see more clearly and understand Perros' stories with a clear mind.

The boy watched closely and then smiled.

"Come," the he said, realizing the light from the sky was now completely absent. "We will retrieve a lantern for you at our home. You shall not attend the feast without one."

He stood and offered his hand to Christine after wiping the remains of the soil on his pant-leg. Christine stared at his hand for a moment until he pushed it farther toward her, urging her to take it. She slipped her fingers within his and was levitated from the ground by a strong arm.

"By the way," he said as she was pulled in close to him. "My name is Raoul."

"My name is Christine –"

"Daaé," the boy finished for her. "Yes, I know. My brother visited your home no more than an hour ago."

* * *

Even after discovering that this stranger was kin to the "appointed town overseer," the walk to his home was surprisingly agreeable. Christine had expected her already rooted feelings for his brother to take control but Raoul was much more pleasant to talk to. He asked many questions about Christine's home back in Knivsta and when she asked to leave the topic, he apologized and obliged immediately. There was something about speaking about the past while it was still too fresh in the memory that fatigued Christine.

Raoul walked closely to Christine, holding his lantern's light high enough to cover both of their shadows. Even with the grey tones in the sky not yet fully extinguished, the lack of light in the evening air made Raoul take any precaution he could. He continued walking in this fashion.

The conversation was turned to his family, which might have appalled Christine had the tale been told by Philippe. But Raoul's modest way of pushing his family's fortune in Perros aside contented her. It wasn't until she mentioned her brother's position that he even brought his family up. He shook his head and seemed reluctant himself to speak about it, but as he continued, Christine understood why:

Five years prior, their father had passed away, leaving the position of overseer to his eldest son. Philippe was twenty-eight when the duties were placed upon him, but immediately Raoul could see the difference in his brother's demeanor. He grew distant and cold, leaving their home often and coercing with fortune tellers, gypsies and sorceresses. The spirits surrounding Perros seemed to constantly occupy his mind, but Raoul had never noticed until their mother died only eighteen months after her husband. Philippe was to take charge himself, his brother, and the village; all while trying to mend the heart which had lost his father, mother and wife within two years.

"His wife as well?" Christine asked sadly.

"He was married to Isobel for two years before she died," Raoul said.

"What happened to her?" Christine asked.

"Nobody really knows," Raoul replied. "It is still a mystery never fully explained."

Christine shook her head sadly, feeling poorly now for having disliked the man so much upon their initial meeting.

They arrived in front of a large home, situated far back on a plot of land which offered little land after the entry. It was more an estate which Raoul led Christine to, quite obviously larger than the rest of the cottages scattered along the land. It was evident that Raoul was embarrassed by the extravagance of the place and he apologized for the inconvenience of having to stop here several times before even reaching the front door. Three large tables were lined in front, filled with food in three separate courses. The quality was extravagant, decorated in fine patterns to show off the quality of help the household surely kept.

As Christine walked inside, she was greeted by a foyer with two pairs of stairs leading up either side of the entry. In the center of the ground floor were two doors. Raoul asked Christine to stay in the foyer as he disappeared behind a door which appeared to lead through a kitchen. Christine turned about the room as she heard rummaging on the opposite side of the door and looked up the stairs to see three doors lined along a loft of the top of each stairway. Large paintings of men were hung between each door. One spot on the farthest side of the right door was left open, waiting for a face to adorn the wall, joining the regal family in conceit.

The door of the kitchen swung open and Raoul emerged again holding his lantern along with a single white candle. He held it out to Christine.

"It is all we have left," Raoul said. "But it will do. The air is meant to remain still tonight."

Christine took the candle in her hands and held it out for Raoul to light. He leaned his lantern close to the wick and tilted it up to ignite it with light. As the ember kindled between the two of them, Raoul smiled and nodded his head toward the door.

"We should be going."

* * *

_ Please leave feedback._

_- Phantom's angel_


	4. Ch 3 la Toussaint

_**Author's Note:** A transition in the story, but as always, entirely necessary. Hope you enjoy :) Sorry for the delay!_

* * *

**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Chapter Three

_la Toussaint_

Light shone from the end of the trail, welcoming Raoul and Christine with warmth to the top of the western path. Christine felt that perhaps they could blow out their lights now with the high visibility, but Raoul kept his burning, hinting for her to leave hers lit until otherwise told. Raoul's pace quickened as he saw the lights, indicating his anticipation in arriving to the feast. They walked up the slope toward the square, when Christine gasped at the glowing barricade of lanterns resting on the floor before them.

All were lined together, nearly touching each other to avoid darkness filling the gaps in between. The space within the circle was filled with illumination, spreading daylight over the gathering place. Raoul offered Christine his hand, assisting her to step over the line of lanterns. As Raoul joined her on the other side, he turned her toward a small space within the line unchained by the glow. He gestured for Christine to kneel beside him, placing her candle beside his lantern filling the void, buried slightly in the fertile ground.

"The chain keeps any unwanted spirits out from our circle," Raoul commented, clarifying Christine's thoughts.

Christine turned on her heels and looked around the circle, taking in the contrasting glow and smell of the wealth of foods. Not a spirit to be seen amongst a crowd which gathered around a multitude of tables. Raoul pulled her back to her feet and drew her close to him.

"To the feast?" he asked.

Christine nodded.

Gathered around the rows of long tables were all the faces Christine had expected to see when she rolled through the square on her arrival into Perros. After having been concealed within their cottages and homes all day without a bite to eat, they flocked to the one place to relieve their longing for nourishment. Townspeople of all ages mingled together, sharing food with their children and preparing baskets for their elders.

They all truly did bare resemblances, from their shared hunger to their distant brown eyes and dark hair. Christine felt a rare gem amongst them, watching their heads turn to stare and the whispers as she passed by with her golden locks. They revealed their knowledge of her without introduction, claming to have heard from their neighbors or friends, none of which Christine could pin as an original source she had met. Raoul apologized on their behalf, blaming their lack of new faces and yearning for hearsay. Yet she remained kind, making light conversation on testing the food and her new living arrangements.

With time, she felt secure with a number of townspeople, taking the conversation from Raoul and charming the crowd which began to form around her. They laughed at her lighthearted humor and praised her optimism in moving in Perros, which was slowly beginning to grow again. A gathering of young boys were enthralled by her tales of traveling through the forests, curious to how she had outwitted the demons along the way. One boy in particular named Gilles pushed question after question, hoping to have a real encounter from her expedition. She shook her head with a smile, apologizing for her uneventful journey. Her story trailed off, disappearing like the lingering notes which she now heard floating on the wind.

Standing where a table once was covered with food was a man with a rustic old fiddle, plucking out a tone as a flute and drum soon joined him. Christine rose to her feet, smiling at the familiarity of music in the air. It was just like Knivsta, where festivals and concerts were played on a weekly basis. The followers of Christine's journey watched as she walked away from her own story, wondering what it was she intended to do with the tune that played.

Slowly, she began to turn in circles around herself in the middle of the few established dancers, letting her arms fall out to her sides and aid in twirling her in circles around her feet. Her toes kept her moving, tapping the ground and sending her back into the air in hops and leaps. Others around stopped their conversations and turned to watch, but Christine did not falter. Instead, she reached her hand out for others outside of the circle, inviting them to join in her dances which were native to the North. Reluctantly, they followed her lead, watching her steps and learning through each chorus by repetition. Those who watched stood and clapped to the beat, but eventually were pulled into the forming circle by either their companions or by Christine.

Each song brought a new wave into the circle, sharing their dances amongst the jigs Christine taught. All who were able were inside of the formation, dancing any way they knew how, but one who Christine expected to have joined her was still standing amongst the spectators, clapping to the beat and laughing along.

Christine skipped over to Raoul and held her hands out for him, urging him with a smile to join her. Raoul quickly declined, waving his arms in protest, implying his ignorance to the dance, but Christine grabbed hold of his wrists anyway and pulled him in to join her.

"Follow me," she said over the growing music and laughter.

Raoul nodded cautiously as Christine wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Raoul tried to conceal his flushed cheeks, unaccustomed to the closeness of those from the northern lands beyond Trégor, and held onto her hips as instructed. Soon enough, Christine was leading him around the dance floor, urging him to spin her around and lift her from her feet. They laughed together as they floundered and tripped over each other, running into others and asking for their pardon. As the music began to slow, Christine stopped him in the middle of the circle and let out a pretty little sigh. She saw her papa standing in the crowd and talking amongst the elders of the town. She smiled to him and waved, glad to see he had made it to the feast on his own. Christine longed to dance with him, but was already winded. Raoul tugged at her arm, gesturing for her to take a rest. She nodded slowly and Raoul took the lead back from her, guiding her to the outside of the circle.

They sat beside each other, watching as the slower music drew in the married couples of the town together to perform a traditional style of dance, which seemed more like walking in circles to Christine. But the music that played nearly lulled her to sleep, playing peacefully like a dream. The rest of the townspeople were equally pacified from their now restful states from dancing combined with the beautiful melody.

Christine rested her head against Raoul's shoulder, nearly closing her eyes as she began to hum with the melody.

Raoul looked at the stranger, finding the down time to realize how favorable he found her. Each moment she would glance away from him, he would take the time to look into her blue eyes and imagine the ocean, settled not very far from their settlement in Perros. He wondered absently if the pools of water within her lovely face could charm even the korrigans, who resided anywhere there was water nearby.

He was nearly convinced when Christine began to sing aloud that she may have been charmed by one of the creatures. So pure was the sound which came from her lips – so beautiful – that he even ventured to think she may be a korrigan herself. She looked up to him and smiled, washing away his doubt with her kindness.

He was caught staring, making Christine laugh lightly at his diligence. He turned away and caught the eye of Monsieur Daaé walking toward his daughter. Christine stood and greeted him politely, kissing him on the cheek and asking how he was feeling. Raoul took the moment to compose himself again, pushing aside his discomfiture.

It was that moment when the music came to a stop and the crowd all turned their heads toward the center of the feast. The muffle spread across the townspeople, drowning them all in the seriousness of the event once again. All eyes were intently staring toward the center of the square again, looking for the tall, stern figure at the center of their festivities. Christine grabbed hold of Raoul's arm, expecting him to give her reason for the sudden change, but then she caught on as well.

Standing where many were once dancing was Philippe with his arms held up high in the air. Everybody's focus was intense as his arms lowered, claiming the last few eyes of the group. The silence of the night momentary took control of the crowd. His eye went to Raoul for a moment, sternly glancing at him and then shifting to see Christine sitting by his side. Christine couldn't read the expression on his face, but she understood it to be anything but pleasant. Perhaps it was disappointment, or even displeasure. She felt Raoul shrink down a bit at her side.

Philippe turned to address the circle again.

"The feast of la Toussaint has concluded," Philippe announced to the spectators. "All spirits of the forests are still active, but tonight they are satisfied."

A sigh of relief swept over the townspeople, turning them to nod and mumble a prayer of thanks to those beside them. All seemed to remember again what it was they were there for, thanks to Philippe's intimidating presence. Christine turned to Raoul and whispered into his ear:

"Where was your brother during the feast?"

Raoul turned to face Christine with question in his eyes, unsure how to answer. Before he could reply, Philippe was gathering attention again.

"You are safe to travel to your homes, but send your children in groups for their story tellings," Philippe said. "The night is still unsafe from the spirits and some may still be willing to tempt a child. May you go in peace."

Philippe exited quickly, taking no questions or remarks from anybody he passed. Christine watched him the entire time, curious to why he acted the way he did.

Meanwhile, parents gathered their children and arranged with whom they would allow their kin to travel with. The elders shuffled back to their homes to prepare for the stories they would tell while the oldest siblings tended to their brothers and sisters, assisting their parents in assuring their families to be safe, yet informed.

Christine turned to Raoul and grabbed hold of his arm.

"What story tellings?" she asked curiously.

"The elders of the town welcome the children into their homes and tell them the lore of our village. It's how we've all learned of the spirits who are around us," Raoul said.

Christine watched the children around her, filled with smiles and excitement. They held hands and jumped at the chance to go out with their friends and hear the tales their elders had to teach them and it made Christine suddenly feel rather lonely.

"Can we go, Raoul?" she asked eagerly.

"To the story tellings?"

"Well, yes," Christine said.

"But story begging is for children," Raoul argued.

"But I know nothing of your town and it would be the best chance to understand the land my father and I have come to."

Raoul considered the idea, wrinkling his nose and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand in thought. Christine giggled, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling it down with a tight squeeze.

"Please, Raoul," she begged. "It will be fun!"

"Very well," Raoul said dejectedly.

Christine jumped in the air and clapped her hands, happily cheering for her victory. Raoul rolled his eyes and smiled.

"You can come with us," said Gilles, the boy who was earlier so intrigued by Christine's journey.

At his side were three other boys ranging in ages. His arms were crossed over his chest and his head was tilted up as if he were planning on conquering some beast rather than hearing stories. His companions stood proudly behind him, looking toward him with admiration, aside from the youngest, who seemed more nervous than anything.

"We'd be delighted to accompany you, Gilles," Christine said.

He held his arm out for Christine to link onto, turning and smirking at Raoul as if he were stealing her away from him. Raoul allowed him the moment of pleasure.

"Where will we be heading first?" Christine asked Gilles.

"To the widow Bisset's cottage, m'lady," Gilles said with added charm. He turned to his companions. "She tells the best tales, after all."

Christine laughed and patted his shoulder.

"Lead the way, then" she said.

Together they all gathered their lanterns and Christine's candle.

They traveled down the eastern path which was even less wooded than the trail to the west. The trees staggered farther apart and more stumps were present from their removal. Yet the space was more occupied with homes and cottages situated more closely together. Gilles mentioned Madame Bisset's home being near the end of the path, yet their travel did not last long, despite Gilles' constant bragging. Christine smiled often but looked to Raoul more frequently, laughing under her breath and showing her amusement with the young boy's efforts in showing off his charisma.

When they reached the cottage, Christine unraveled her arm from her guide's and waited for Raoul to step to her side. Raoul instinctively repeated Gilles' gesture which Christine accepted naturally. They stood outside of the door for a moment, waiting for anything to happen when Christine asked what it was they were supposed to do.

"Most homes you must knock, but once Madame Bisset is ready, she keeps her door open," Gilles explained. "We must be the first to arrive."

Just as he said it, the door to the cottage opened and an elderly woman walked on to the porch. The boys all leapt over the stairs, racing up toward her immediately while Christine looked to Raoul for confirmation of their next move. He gestured for her to take the lead, guiding her up the wooden stairs where they too were greeted by the woman handing them small bon bons. She smiled upon greeting Raoul, who kindly declined his treat.

"I have, unfortunately, outgrown the old traditions and am merely showing our ways to a new friend," Raoul said, gesturing to Christine.

"No one can outgrow our past," Madame Bisset said, placing the morsel in his hand and closing his fingers around it.

Raoul smiled to her fondly and nodded his head, silently thanking her for her kindness. Madame Bisset placed a treat within Christine's hand as well and smiled to her fondly. It was as if she couldn't see her contrasting hair color and bright blue eyes. The old woman ushered Raoul and Christine inside without saying another word and took her place in a large cushioned seat beside a fire. Allowing herself to settle, she leaned far back into the chair and took a deep breath of air before beginning her tale:

"A man sat in a little boat on one of those deep, still lakes that open like a bright eye in the midst of the great forbidden forests…"

* * *

The group walked out of the house after the story was over in silence. Christine was turning the ideas inside of her head slowly, working on understanding as much as she could before moving on to the next home.

The man in the story had rowed straight toward a gleaming light of red, however it was not the light radiating off of the water's surface which beckoned him, but the beautiful singing voice that made him so intent. There was no figure to be seen until he was standing within his boat, surrounded by the glow. For many men, it would have been too late to be saved, but the man was cleaver. He bargained with the korrigan who called him into her trap, offering to play his lyre to accompany her beautiful song. She accepted, believing his offer to be part of her seduction of the man. But as his music played, it proved to be more lovely than the siren's song. It drowned out the rich tone and he sailed away, leaving the korrigan dead, for any korrigan to lose their prey loses their song, and therefore, their lives.

Raoul looked over to Christine and placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked over quickly, turning her thoughts back over to the night and the four boys who were now plotting to the side of her.

"Nonsense, we shan't encounter anything with our lanterns," Gilles was saying.

"But they are more active tonight," the youngest of the boys said in a trembling voice. His name was Nicolas.

"They will only be near the water," said another boy, Roland.

"There could be other spirits to follow us," Nicolas said.

"Nothing will happen," Etienne said. He seemed to be the most knowledgeable of the group.

"What do they mean?" Christine asked Raoul.

"They want to go looking for korrigans," Raoul said. "I used to do it often as a child myself."

"Is it safe?" Christine asked, trying to cover her mischievous grin.

"So long as you keep a lantern, I suppose," Raoul shrugged. "Though I know their parents would not approve."

"They won't need to know," Roland said to Raoul.

With the right persuasion, Nicolas was soon following his companions up the hill. His feet trudged heavily behind him in discontent, yet his inquisitiveness made it clear how intrigued he truly was. Behind him, Raoul and Christine walked together. Raoul detailed what exactly it was they were set to doing as they climbed over uprooted tree stumps and boulders. Just like many generations before them, children would go to the top of this hill which overlooked the town from one side and the forests beyond from the other. It was a safe place which crossed over minimal woodland but also offered the best view of the terrain surrounding their land. If they could see the faint red glow of a creature near the water, they were spying a korrigan.

"Have you ever seen one?" Christine asked eagerly.

"Not once," Raoul said with a laugh. "But it is always good for imagination."

As they reached the top of the hill, Raoul helped Christine over the last stone which granted access to their arrival. The four boys were running to the opposite end of the mound while Christine slowly approached, astonished by the view.

The night sky looked enormous as it shadowed all that was covered by forest in an ominous black veil, hiding all wonders which lie beneath the canopy. To the north, the sky met the dark roaring sea which met with its companion the river, which snaked its way down to the east. And of course, the west was filled with light from la Toussaint, but as her eyes continued scanning the world around her, she could not help but focus intently on a spot on the northern sea.

Beside her, Gilles grumbled.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"But there must be korrigans on la Toussaint," Roland complained.

"Maybe it is too early in the night," Etienne tried.

"But it must be near eleven," Roland said.

"Then perhaps they have all gone," Etienne said.

"They may be near the village," Gilles said.

Nicolas on the other hand sighed with relief. His adventure up the hill seemed to content him enough for one night of adventure, though he did hope that his friends would not decide on hunting for them so near their homes.

"Sorry, boys," Raoul said. "Looks like there will be no korrigan sightings tonight."

Christine shook her head slowly, still looking out to the north and furrowing her brow with confusion.

"I don't understand," she said to herself.

Raoul looked to her and stepped close beside her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I…I don't understand how…how none of you can see it," Christine said to Raoul.

Nicolas overheard her and his eyes widened immediately, sending him to search over the water surfaces again.

"You can see one?" Etienne cried.

Raoul leaned in close to her and held onto her arm.

"You don't have to do this," he said into her ear.

"But, I can see…"

"Where is it?" Gilles yelled, pushing Roland nearly to the ground.

All four boys were searching the horizon, squinting their eyes and straining to get a glimpse of what it was Christine said she could see.

"She's fibbing," Gilles announced.

"Why would she?" Roland asked.

"To play us as fools," Etienne said quickly.

Christine remained silent, not wanting to further their declarations. She merely peered out to the horizon again and watched in disbelief. How could she be the only one who could see it? Was it a trick they were playing on her?

"She doesn't even know what a korrigan is, let alone what it looks like," Gilles said.

"But she heard the story Madame Bisset told," Roland said.

"She did not describe what they look like," Etienne said.

"Precisely," Raoul intervened. "Therefore, there is no reason to carry on with this."

"What does it look like?" Nicolas chimed in, his voice quivering from nervousness.

"Yes, make her describe it!" Roland cried.

"That will determine if it is real," Etienne said.

"Well…It…It—"

"See," Gilles said. "She is lying."

"It looks like a woman," Christine cried out quickly. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration. She knew she shouldn't continue, especially given the way Raoul was looking to her, but she was determined to prove that she was not lying to them. Christine looked again to the ocean. "She has long, dark hair and her eyes glow. She is so far away, yet still, her details are perfectly clear. She is quite beautiful… and her hair is being picked up by the air, though there is no breeze, even beside the ocean. That is where she is standing, after all."

Nicolas was nearly white with terror, but the older three boys were standing in shock with their mouths opened. They looked back and forth between each other and the coastline where they expected to finally see what it was Christine saw, but to no avail.

"How can she see it and not us?" Etienne cried nervously.

They all argued back and forth at possibilities while Christine raised her hands in defense, waving them and saying how it must be just her imagination.

"Boys, quiet," Raoul said. "Christine, do not lie to them; stop this."

"I…I'm sorry, I—"

"She can't be lying," Roland said. "She gave a perfect description of a korrigan."

"But how can she see it when we cannot?" Etienne asked.

"Sorcery!" Gilles cried. "She knows dark magic!"

The boys backed away from Christine immediately, grabbing hold for their lanterns behind them. Christine stepped toward them, trying to erase what had been done, but they all began to run. Their speed down the hill carried them quickly into the darkness, disappearing into the night within a mere moment.

Raoul did not speak until the light from their lanterns disappeared completely.

"What were you thinking?"

Christine remained silent, keeping her eyes on the ground as Raoul waited on her response.

"You don't need to play with their imaginations," Raoul said. "They can do that themselves if they so choose."

"I would not play with their imaginations," Christine said.

"Then why did you say all of that?" Raoul asked.

"Because it is true," Christine cried. "I told you exactly what I saw, and it remains there, even now."

Raoul shook his head in astonishment, unsure what the say.

"Do you not believe in your own tales?" Christine asked. "You said you came here before, looking for korrigans. Do you not believe they can be seen?"

Raoul was quiet for a moment, turning his thoughts inside of his mind.

"I know they exist," Raoul said. "Everything says that they do. But if one can see them, everyone should be able to see them. After all, I have not once met anybody who has seen them from the top of this hill."

"Then why come up here? Who started this? Someone must have seen a korrigan up here before if it is still part of the tradition. Is it not just like a story? Is this not what you and the rest of this village believe in?"

Christine's logic was too real for Raoul. He looked to her and then looked out over the horizon again, searching one last time for himself.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head and craning his neck to inspect every element he could. No matter how hard he tried he continued looking for that distant red glow…

"You cannot see her, can you?" Christine asked.

Raoul shook his head.

Christine kneeled to the ground, gathering her knees in her arms. She hid her face beneath her arms, shaking her head and closing her eyes tightly.

"What does it mean, Raoul?"

With thought, Raoul crouched down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head a moment and then turned her chin up to look his directly in the eyes.

"I don't know," Raoul said slowly. "But I think we should keep this to ourselves until it can be explained. Nobody should know."

* * *

**_Thanks for reading. Reviews appreciated :)_**


	5. Låten

**_Author's Note:_** _Short interlude... Unfortunately, I can't post the link to the song/lyrics, but post the first line of the lyrics and the web blog I found it on should show up.  
_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Interlude

_Låten (__song)_

Christine wished to be alone.

She asked Raoul to allow her to walk by herself, despite his protest against the idea. He felt it unwise, considering what had just happened, though he tried to avoid mentioning anything directly. Christine promised she would go straight home and swore she only wanted to have some time to herself. It did not take much of a fight. Before they parted at the base of the hill which overlooked Perros, Raoul traded Christine's candle for his lantern.

"Lanterns are easy to come by," Raoul said. "Besides, it will offer better light."

"Thank you," Christine smiled.

Even with the lantern, the night seemed darker while she was alone. Christine and Raoul remained at the top of the hill for some time after the group of young boys fled. It was so bright being close to the stars in the sky with the glow of the lanterns passing through the village below. Together, they sat deciding how to handle the whole "ordeal." Though they never found a way to explain the event that had passed, they decided to agree to inform others that it was all only a joke gone too far. Christine felt better knowing Raoul would stand behind her, but as she traveled farther down the western path, her spirits faded like the stars now hiding behind a sheet of clouds.

She sighed heavily with her gloomy spirit returning once more. Walking alone at least was enjoyable enough as her memory kept her occupied. She recalled the feast and the fun she had dancing with the townspeople, learning their songs and teaching her former ways of dancing. Her heart filled with longing, wishing to feel the closeness of her home again.

Yearningly, she allowed herself to sing aloud. It was an airy little song from home which was still sang in the old folk language of Knivsta. It was a language nearly untouched, yet still adored by everybody in the kingdom. It remained alive only through song, which was most at heart to those who lived north of the great sea. Though Christine had little connection to the language to speak it, she had all the respect in to world for the music. It soothed, it felt, it moved… it drove Christine to a different form of understanding which she couldn't articulate but she clearly comprehended.

_"__När som jag var på mitt adertonde år, det var en vacker gosse som föll__uti min håg…"_

She sang quietly, yet some notes she allowed herself to hold out, letting it crescendo through the trees. This in particular was a sad song, but even its mournful tone helped Christine feel less lonesome.

_"…Tack för att du varit min endaste tröst och tack för alla stunder jag vilat vid ditt bröst. I himmlen skall vi åter bli förenta."_

Christine repeated and sang the song rest of her way home, quietly gathering her thoughts as she traveled. She paid no attention to the shadows of the night behind her, enraptured by her song.


	6. Ch 4 Ultimatum

_**Author's note:** A short chapter, but with this story planning to have a few small interlude chapters (much like laten), this is rich with important information. I'm hoping the end of my spring semester coming soon will give me more time to get chapters up in this story. Though I do have one more planned trip for this year which will take away from my writing time (unless I write on the plane again, like I did for this chapter ;D), I am hoping for a productive summer. Thank you all for your generous comments and I do hope you continue to enjoy!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Chapter Four

_Ultimatum _

The days which followed la Toussaint were quite difficult. As Christine and Papa Daaé walked through town on their errands, eyes cast upon Christine with contempt and disquiet. No longer was she the charming young foreigner spreading her appeal through Perros, but a threat to all who lived there. With her attempts to speak with those she recognized from the feast, she was shooed away or ignored, openly discarded despite her attempts to explain. In time, she began to give up. None would listen to her story if she tried. Papa looked to his daughter in questioning when he overheard comments made as they passed by. None of these words gave much answer to why they were given, but were presented often enough to stir questioning. Christine pacified each comment, brushing them off as nothing for so long. He was unaware to the rumors circulating around them, as Christine did well in keeping them hidden from him, but even with her talent at distracting him, he finally grew suspicious.

Charles took his daughter by the arm and pulled her back to their cart, gathering their purchase along the way. He asked Christine if there was anything she needed to tell him – if anything was wrong – but she said no, and promised that if she needed to talk, she would. He was not persuaded, but believed in his daughter's promise and nodded slowly, knowing that if there truly was trouble, she would come to him.

Back at their home, it was coming along nicely and becoming filled with attention. Their small stock of items from Knivsta was all put away and their trips to the town's square of shops were beginning to add charm to their dwelling. Papa now wanted to set his focus on the outside. Christine and her papa began preparations on their land before the winter settled in. Papa said it would be beneficial for them to uproot as much of their land before the snow came as possible. Then when it melted in the spring, they would have less work to prepare for their harvest.

Together, they pulled the aging dapple-grey horse they acquired in Sant-Brieg out from the weathered stable and hooked him up to a manual plow. Papa Daaé set to work on churning up the land, rooted deep with weeds while Christine plucked out the withering wild flora from around the porch and stable.

Their work was coming along well as the transformation from far-woodland to planting field commenced. They spoke not a word to each other once starting, but occasionally would catch each other's glances and would smile, giving further encouragement in their chore. In-between these moments, Christine would hum to herself quietly, moving the time along.

She was so engrossed in her work and the tune that she sung that she didn't noticed the presence watching her from the porch above her. Christine's eyes were cast downward, focused on the soil coating her hands that she never heard the footsteps as they approached her. Yet as soon as she saw the shadow resting to her side, her eyes shot up to the porch.

"Good afternoon," Papa cried out heartily from the field.

He seemed to have spotted their visitor at the same moment Christine had.

Philippe did not respond, but kept his eyes intent on Christine, advancing toward her with great purpose. Charles rose from his hunched stance over the ground and walked his way toward the porch. Daaé's gait was casual, but as Philippe stopped in front of Christine and continued to look downward, Daaé's pace quickened. Christine continued to stare up at Philippe as if daring him to take another step.

"Is there something I may accommodate you with?" Charles asked, calmly stepping in front of his daughter from the side protectively.

"I must speak with Mademoiselle Daaé," Philippe said impatiently.

"You are welcome to it," Charles said, stepping side to reveal Christine again.

He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Philippe to begin.

I was precisely what Christine was afraid of. Her papa knew nothing of what happened during the time of the story tellings. Her behavior over the past few days only hid the secret which she could not find the courage to tell him. She couldn't even explain it to herself. If only she had told him sooner; then it wouldn't have to be like this. Then she wouldn't have to speak about it in the presence of such an intolerable man while also revealing to her father.

"I will speak to her alone, Monsieur," Philippe said. "I will not be trifled with further over the issue."

"But sir—"

Christine stood up and grabbed hold of her father's arm before he could speak further.

"All is well, Papa," she said. "I will speak to _Monsieur_ de Chagny alone, if he so wishes."

Daaé bowed politely to Philippe and then patted his daughter on the back, allowing her to pass. She looked to him and nodded, assuring she was willing enough to allow his desire to talk.

Philippe led Christine to the front of the house, where Christine allowed him inside of the cottage. She gave him a slight, sarcastic bow as he passed through the threshold, but only so he was unable to notice. She felt a slight gain of strength before the conversation she found was inevitable at this point. Christine never felt so old before in her life, for she now knew what it was to confront true fear straight on. This was no strange mystery of creature of the lore, but a real dilemma with true consequences. And the idea of not understanding frightened her greatly.

Philippe walked to the table and turned quickly as Christine approached from behind him.

"May I offer you anything, sir?" she asked out of habit.

Philippe simple gestured to the bench seat in front of him, making it clear what he desired. Christine took the seat in front of him, trying to conceal her frustration. With a heavy breath of air, she looked up directly into his eyes. He stared straight back at her for a long time before speaking.

"You surly know why I am here," he said.

"I am afraid I do not," Christine said.

_Just like you rehearsed_, Christine thought.

Philippe returned her glance of questioning with a scowl.

"Do not toy with me, Mademoiselle," he scowled. "I have heard from far too many sources for the rumor to not be true."

"Perhaps, just like a story, rumors spread by word of mouth travel rather quickly."

Philippe slammed his hand on the table at her comment.

"This is a serious matter, Mademoiselle, and I will not have you mocking it with your riddles!"

Christine flinched backwards, shying away from his face elevated only inches away from hers. His eyes were wild with anger, yet after a moment, they softened.

He began to chuckle quietly to himself, which grew into a full fledged laughter. He realized his temper and stepped away from Christine, holding his hand over the back of his neck – a characteristic Christine recognized from Raoul which he must have picked up from his elder brother – and he turned away for a moment to recover.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle," Philippe laughed. "You see, I truly do not find this a situation to laugh at, but you must understand my frustration."

Christine looked up to him for a long moment, trying to understand the fire behind his eyes. It was not anger like he was pretending to present to her: it was hunger. Like a beast stalking its prey, Philippe seemed to be interesting in more than just interrogation.

"I did not see anything that night," Christine said plainly.

"You may have not wanted to, but you did," Philippe corrected.

"It was simply a hoax gone too far," Christine said.

"No, Mademoiselle Daaé," Philippe said. "No, the details are all too clear, even for an intended trick on children. All of the evidence is far too accurate for one unfamiliar with our ways. Despite my conformation of _your_ tale, we both know the truth.

Christine looked at him suspiciously.

"You told others it was only a joke?" Christine questioned.

"Of course."

"But why?" Christine asked.

"We cannot go stirring the imagination of the village over something which can easily be covered," Philippe said casually.

Christine shifted in her seat.

"Continue giving your tale as you will, Mademoiselle," Philippe said. "I am merely here to give you a warning. And an ultimatum."

His glance was almost vicious, as if he would consume Christine if she made a false move. He leaned toward her again on the table, this time finding great power in lowering himself even closer toward her face.

"Do not tell a soul about what you have seen. It will prove very dangerous for you if you do."

"Dangerous?" Christine asked. "But if the korrigans are part of your lore, why would simply seeing one – or any spirit for that matter – be a threat?"

"This is not a matter to fool with, Mademoiselle," Philippe spat.

"I do not intend to; I only ask a question," Christine said.

"It is not to be tempted."

"Please, if you do believe I saw the korrigan, then why will you not help me?" Christine begged. "How could one see a korrigan when no other could? Why is it all such a terrible secret in this village? What can be done to stop this?"

Philippe placed his hands on Christine's shoulders. He looked down at her as if he was planning to tell her, but then he went back to his seemingly casual frown.

"This is not a matter to be tampered with," he said. "We have both admitted to your seeing a spirit the night of la Toussaint and now it must be put away. You will not speak a word of this again. To _anybody_."

Christine knew immediately what he meant with this comment. He did not want her to discus this even with Raoul; his own brother.

"I have not agreed to seeing anything," Christine said. "I will continue telling my story how I please."

"So long as it continued how you have claimed to me," Philippe said after a moment of thought.

"And if this all is meant to be kept away from the town, what possible ultimatum could you offer regarding my current situation at hand?" Christine asked defiantly.

Philippe turned his head about the room, as if checking to be sure there was truly nobody else in the area. Christine found herself following his gesture, searching for faces she knew she wouldn't find. As Philippe seemed satisfied in his assessment of the space around them, he turned to Christine and kneeled down beside her, suddenly allowing his furrowed brow to soften to eyes which pleaded with her.

"Mademoiselle Daaé, I am going to ask you something very serious and I expect an answer which is unafraid of truthful from you."

"Why must I fear an honest answer, sir?" she asked hesitantly.

Philippe grabbed onto Christine's hands. She looked down nervously and nodded her head, understanding his silent plea for her understanding. For some reason, she suddenly felt pity for whatever it was which drove the poor man.

"Christine, are you able to communicate with the spirits?"

Christine nearly laughed out loud. The irony of his asking her with such hope when he seemed to condemn her only moments before was nearly amusing. Yet as his hands clung onto hers and his eyes widened with impatient longing, she pushed her thoughts of the satire away and tried to consider why he would even ask.

"Even if I could," Christine said slowly. "In what interest is there for me to reveal such a risky talent to you?"

"Precisely why I ask for your honesty," Philippe said. "But in a place such as this, a talent so risky could be quite convenient."

He was leaning even closer to her now, looking up to her while still holding tightly to her hands.

"If you should reveal such a talent to the right people, you may find yourself in fine company," Philippe added.

Christine nearly wanted to confess to the sighting of the korrigan just to learn more about Philippe's proposal of good company. His words poured from his lips like honey; sweet, yet sticky. There was promise behind his words, that was clear. But it seemed his promise would be nothing Christine would truly desire.

"Miss Daaé?"

"No," Christine said. "I cannot communicate with spirits."

He glared at Christine for a moment and then stood abruptly. It seemed clear that he believed in Christine's word enough not to fight it. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck before turning from her and walking to the door, only turning to offer Christine a sarcastic "good day" before leaving. The door slammed with a heavy thud as he left and it was not long before Christine heard the clap of his boots against his stallion's haunches as he turned the creature up onto the western path.

Christine gave herself a moment before forcing herself back out to assist her papa outside. She knew he wouldn't ask what their meeting was about. He trusted is daughter to tell him her troubles when she was ready. It was probably foolish of him now to be so trusting. Her secrets were piling over his head by the minutes.

She never before had been faced with such a problem as being part of everybody's fears. Despite her spirited nature and courage, she was quite afraid now more than ever. Why had Philippe demanded the truth from her yet accepted her denial of it out in the town? And what was his interest in an ability to communicate with the spirits? If he condemned her ability to see any spirit on la Toussaint, why would he want for her to be able to communicate with one?

Whatever his purpose, Christine knew one thing: she needed to know more about the stories surrounding Perros.


	7. Dröm

_**Author's Note:** Another short piece, but the next longer chapter is written out and just needs to be transcribed into Word and edited. After I finish a final paper for school, I'll be in the clear! Hope you enjoy and please send your love :)_

_- Phantom's angel_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Interlude

_Dröm_

The air was cold. There was an ache in Christine's body as her hands gripped onto her arms, trying to protect herself from the elements. Winter was here. She sat in the center of a clearing within the woods, looking about herself pensively. There was no fear, but wonder as she had so often heard the warnings of the forests surrounding Perros. Here in the quiet of the trees surrounding her, Christine felt peace. Even without a hint of light, Christine was welcomed by a beautiful sound…

A voice was calling her name, whispering through the trees like a lullaby. She wished to close her eyes to sleep, yet she could not, for she was intent on finding the form behind the melody. Her hand reached in the darkness, groping for anything that was tangible until she paused.

That distant voice called for her again, this time beside her ear.

Christine dropped her hand to her side and could feel the presence of someone standing close behind her. The form was powerful but even with the proximity it stood by Christine, it was cold.

It called to her again.

Christine turned to see nothing.

She gasped, searching the night for any signs of the voice, but to no avail.

She called to the voice, questioning its location, yet there was nothing but a breeze whistling past her ear.

But the chilled shadow remained behind her, forcing Christine to arch her shoulders forward to keep in her warmth. A shiver ran down her arms, strategically running down toward her finger tips, drawing her hands to turn and accept a chilling grip in her hands.

"Sing…" the voice whispered.

Christine did not question the voice, but crept into a simple melody from her homeland in the ancient language. It was a light tune – heartfelt and cheery – but lacked deeper emotion which could drive her into a thrill of ranges. The voice did not speak, but somehow conveyed its yearning for more.

The grip within her palm seemed to grow tighter, yet more faint as if it was slipping through her flesh. It no longer spoke to her but struggled – somehow to her knowing – trying to maintain its station beside her. Christine tried to hold on, but with any pressure she applied, it seemed their bond only grew weaker. Within moments, the pressure of the voice's hand was gone and Christine was alone, signing to an audience which was no longer present.

Her song carried out, despite the displaced presence of the voice, in case it was still nearby. As her singing concluded, she was certain she was completely abandoned, waking in her bed to realize it was all just a dream.

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_Please review._


	8. Ch 5 Swing

_**Author's Note:** Sorry not sorry, guys. Got this chapter plus one more before we really start getting down to business. And don't you worry, our version of Erik will be coming along soon. Work schedule should be calming soon... then I may take more time to sit outside of cafes and stuff to write. Let's cross fingers!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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**_Le Fantôme et L'ange_**

Chapter Five

_Swing_

Raoul opened the letter addressed to him the moment it fell into his possession. The delicate writing and lack of a seal hinted to the origins of the note, but as he unfolded the parchment and looked immediately to the bottom, he confirmed that it was indeed from the stranger Christine of Knivsta. Despite the feelings the town had seemed to form for Christine, Raoul was quite fond of her. Perhaps it was his understanding of her situation which waived any hostility toward her, but as he read the quickly written letter, he pitied her even more. Even in her penmanship, he could hear her plea for help and acceptance.

The note fell to Raoul's side as he thought on the people of Perros and their habit of building up a story's fictitious side. The same had happened upon the death of his brother's wife. There was little pity for the widower, but mere stories which circulated around the town, pining allegation on how it all happened. Even now, any villager would not hold their breath to give their opinion on the matter if it were brought up in conversation. It was the nature of the small town, so secluded from the rest of the kingdom of Trégor, just as it is the nature of mankind to thrive off gossip.

The note weighed inside of Raoul's hand, reminding him of the appointment requested of him. He held onto the note longingly, gripping it now to his heart in pained disappointment. If only he had never permitted Christine to take part in the story begging to begin with. Then he would not feel so guilty for the poor girl's plight.

Raoul checked the location once more before tucking the note into his coat and quickening his pace into the mid-day sun outside of his comfortable home. He needed no direction to the Daaé cottage. He knew all too well how to get there.

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Beneath the shade of a tree sat Christine, swinging back and forth on a swing she seemed to have created herself. Her eyes were cast downward and her hair hung around the sides of her face, hiding her eyes and shielding her from seeing Raoul as he approached. He heard a heavy sigh come from her lips before she caught sight of him nearing her from her side.

"Oh," she cried out from surprise.

She dug her bare feet into the dirt and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Raoul held out a hand, urging her to remain seated.

"I did not expect you to receive my note so quickly," Christine said.

"I came as soon as I read it," Raoul said.

Christine looked about herself and then her eyes laid back on Raoul's. He could see a moisture building up behind them, holding back the troubles she'd endured since la Toussaint. Raoul hadn't seen her since their departure at the bottom of the hill, but it was clear to see she'd been confronted by people curious to her sighting. He too was confronted by townspeople, but even in his attempts to defend Christine, everybody longed to know what she saw and what it all meant.

The rumor was spread in many ways. Some were correct while others were as far fetched as to say that Christine had conjured the korrigan herself. It was no wonder the weight of her new home was pressing on her so. Raoul made a point to continue trying to spread their own story, despite the town's refusing to acknowledge it. The fearful was more compelling to them; it fueled them and stirred them all to question and wonder, giving a thrill in their mundane lives.

But Christine looked so sad.

"Your brother came yesterday," Christine said, still looking at her feet.

Raoul knew his brother would act on the situation. He was actually surprised it took him so long, really. But the look of pain in Christine's eyes made him uneasy.

"Why did it take him so long to confront this?" Christine asked.

"I-I am unsure," Raoul replied. "But surely the time from having to speak to my brother was good to gather your thoughts?"

"I suppose so," Christine said quietly.

Her eyes were locked on something in the dirt.

Raoul looked down with her, trying to see what she saw; trying to understand her thoughts. His feet were firmly planted on the ground while hers dangled in the air, brushing past each other as her largest toe struggled to reach what Raoul's full soles could. Raoul turned himself to take a seat beside her on the wooden seat. She scooted sideways, allowing him the extra space as he cupped his hands in his lap and looked down to his shoes. He dug his feet in the dirt and pressed against the ground, teetering both of them back on the swing. They rocked backwards, urging Christine to grab the rope holding her suspended from the tree. Christine tried to hold back her smile, turning her head away from Raoul and lowering her eyes. He suppressed a laugh, lifting his feet from the ground to allow them to swing back forward again.

The swing rocked back and forth without aid as they sat together. Raoul thought of how simple the stranger from the north was, putting aside the stories surrounding her here in Perros. Christine was nothing more than any other townsperson, but the misfortune of her first night amongst his people made her something far more than she truly was. Raoul wished to wash all of the lies away for her; to clear the pallet Trégor and Perros has painted for her and start her anew.

"Do you think I can communicate with the spirits?" Christine asked.

Raoul's feet slid across the ground. A cloud of dust billowed up around them as he stared at his companion anomalously. Removing himself from the swing's seat, he kneeled before Christine and placed his hands on her knee.

"You should not wish for such things," Raoul said urgently, lowering his voice as he spoke.

"I never would," Christine said. "But perhaps I can?"

"Impossible," Raoul countered immediately. "You only saw a korrigan; that does not mean you possess such a dark power."

"But the korrigan I saw was so far away; impossible for me to be able to communicate with. Could it at least be possible?"

"Surely you would know about something like this," Raoul said. "Surely, you would have encountered it before…"

"We have no spirits of this kind in Knivsta," Christine said. "The closest we have to your kind of spirits are called _spöken, _but they are fearful of humans and only wander near their graves; nobody ever comes across them. There would be no way to know if I could communicate with a spirit unless I cross one here."

"We do not interact with the spirits here either," Raoul said.

"What if somebody here wanted to interact with them?" Christine asked.

Raoul took in a quick breath of air.

"I think that would be very dangerous, Christine," he said solemnly.

Christine sighed and looked out toward the woods, wondering distantly is she would be able to see a spirit passing by if she gazed long enough. She wondered what a ghoul or a fantôme would look like compared to the korrigan she had already seen. What beauty would they posses? What could any of these spirits teach those in Perros? How could any of these be different than the ones she heard stories of from Knivsta?

"I would not care for such contact with them," Christine said. "No since yesterday…"

"You must remove these thoughts," Raoul warned.

"I think Philippe is trying to communicate with them," Christine stated.

Raoul tensed, clenching his fists within his hands. He stood abruptly and rubbed the back of his neck in bewildered thought. He turned to stare at Christine.

"That is a bold thing to say," Raoul said rather coldly. "Why would you believe such a thing of my brother?"

"Forgive me," Christine said "I do not mean to intrude. But your brother seemed quite interested in my ability to hear spirits in his appointment with me yesterday."

"He must have simply asked to better understand the situation at hand," Raoul said defiantly.

"He said it would be a convenient talent," Christine said with a harsh undertone.

"Perhaps it could be," Raoul said thoughtfully.

Christine paused, leaning closer toward him to better see into his eyes with the afternoon sun turning orange around them. He did not waver in his stare back, for he was genuinely interested in the possibility to know what a spirit would have to say, rather than having ill intent in his comment.

Christine retreated.

"Raoul, I think there is something going on here," she said uneasily.

"And you believe Philippe is doing ill?" Raoul asked with disappointment.

"He has not been keen of me since my arrival here in Perros," Christine said. "Now he wants to know all of this about me? It doesn't seem right. I think he is interested in communicating with the spirits himself."

"I cannot believe that is what is going on," Raoul said quietly, urging her to follow his tone.

"Perhaps," Christine said.

Raoul sighed.

"Christine, I have enjoyed spending time with you since your arrival in Perros. But this… I cannot continue to support you if _this_ continues. I know you are trying to understand what happened that night on the hill – and I want to help you – but making acquisitions will not help the matter at all."

Christine frowned at Raoul, wanting to throw him the cruelest of words she could think of, yet she held her tongue. Her fingers unlaced from the swing's ropes and crossed over her chest in defense. It seemed all was lost in the small hope she once briefly had in having a friend in the matter, but she knew she could not blame him. Raoul was now between his brother and a new friend with this scandal, and it was only right for him to quietly assume position with Philippe. Her eyes grew soft again, no longer able to blame Raoul for the dissatisfaction she felt. Whether Philippe was playing poorly or not, she could not let her sentiments trouble his cause.

Uncrossing her arms from her chest, Christine bit her lip and looked up to Raoul again.

"You are right, Raoul," she said. "I cannot look to others for blame."

"Precisely," Raoul agreed.

"I simply must continue on my own."

"What? No, Christine, you do not need to do anything," Raoul protested. "Just because you saw a korrigan does not mean you should condemn yourself to go searching for them!"

"But it must mean something," Christine said.

"Spirits are all around these woods," Raoul said. "In all of the stories and all of the lore, that is all that has ever been told; we have learned to live amongst them."

"If that is so, then why is your brother so intent on conversing with them?" Christine shot back.

"We do not know that is what he wants to do," Raoul said.

"But he and the rest of the town are terrified of the prospects of someone having seen a spirit. If you have all learned to live amongst them, then why are they so fearful? Ever since I have seen one, I have received nothing but whispers and cruel stares. Now your brother is demanding this information from me which I cannot honestly answer. I think it is _quite_ clear that I must do _something_."

Raoul stared back at Christine in astonishment. He could hardly decide if it was her forwardness which astounded him into a lack of speech or if he truly could not father a counter argument. He felt bad for this girl who he instantly felt a friendship with, wishing he could change this horrible situation for her. But her request was too personal. Her needs now conflicted too much with Raoul's family interests.

"Your silence confirms my motivation," Christine said defiantly.

Raoul held his hands up to calm the girl.

"I will always be willing to offer you any help I can," he said. "But you must remember my place in this town and my obligation to it. And my family."

"I do not intend to trouble your position," Christine said as kind as possible. "But I do hope you can know when to look outside of the confines of Perros and your family name."

Christine then stood from the swing and looked up into Raoul's eyes. She searched within them, trying to find a hint of realization inside. They were wide with shock, the full of the brown showing against the whites, shining with understanding and new thought. Christine concealed her clever smile and turned away from her companion, walking out from the shade of the tree, letting the swing rock behind her. She quickened her pace as she crossed the land her papa and she worked to prepare, until she made it to the back porch, disappearing from sight completely. Perhaps, in the future, Raoul could come to be of greater help to her. In the mean time, she was on her own.

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_Comments and critique greatly appreciated :)_


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